


an empty bliss beyond this world

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: DNF, Hearing Voices, I hate my writing style, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Poorly written, dreamnotfound, empty bliss author, unaware pining??? that doesnt make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:00:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: title and music described are from The Caretaker's "An Empty Bliss Beyond This World" and "Everywhere At The End Of Time"the undertones of this being abouuut george liking dream are very very very unnoticeable and you can just pass it off as angst or something, if i decide to continue this in mini bits ill do so in the "empty bliss author" tagThis is not between the real people and only between personas(poorly written because im no english major lolol pls forgive my terrible spelling, grammar as well as overall story plot and writing ty)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Collections: Anonymous





	an empty bliss beyond this world

**Author's Note:**

> basically just read the summary :)

The music hums softly in George’s brain, stopping his thoughts and slowing his breath. Laying there in the dark, all he could think about was the music and how it seemed to echo through his mind and slow everything around him, he could feel himself sink deeper and deeper into the mattress and feel the dark around him swallowing him whole. When did it first begin?

George had always had issues sleeping. Most nights he would lay still in his bed, looking up at the white ceiling that was always trying to contrast with the darkness enveloping the room; eyes adjusting and non adjusting as they pleased. His eyes never really did see anything staring at that bland old ceiling, he had looked at it several days when he woke up, and he had seen ceilings before. So why couldn’t he remember what it looked like? Had his mind finally frayed away? Had he finally lost? That’s when it first began, and one could certainly call the feeling of this brain made melody “longing”. Longing for something so close but out of reach, something he needed so desperately but when it came down to real life; it was something he could never have. Unaware of what he “longed for” and what he wanted so badly, it began to consume his every thought. The music was all he would hear. No thoughts. Just the simple crackling of vinyl scratching against a needle as the jazz tones sifted through his mind.

It wasn’t a physical place he wanted, no it wasn’t a place at all. The more he thought about it the better he could describe, but no matter how hard he squinted his eyes in the dark and writhed against the covers, it was always so vague.

Now he just lay there, thinking. 

the last thing of the night he remembers, was hearing a whisper of goodnight in his buzzing brain. Waking up to the contrasting and rather sad ceiling, well, about as sad as a ceiling can get. He listened carefully. No music. No calm but eerie piano chords played alongside soft humming of the record player. Bliss.

As much as those piano chords had helped him fall asleep and feel that sense of want and desire. They still terrified him, they may have sung a sweet lullaby to him and helped his mind go at ease when the pressuring thoughts and dark were gnawing on every ounce of light that seeped from his ivory body frozen on the bed. But the chords also rung with a tone of sadness and despair, they too rang with the tone of darkness. He told himself that if he’d ever woken up and the notes still echoed through his empty bedroom walls, if they ever bounced and flipped through the cold air of his home or the notes themself ever projected on the bland old ceiling through prisms sent by the sunlight shining on the foggy windowpane. That he was dead. His body cold, and that the dark would be sleeping peacefully knowing it got away with eating him whole, consuming every bit of light that was once coursing through him. 

He’d rather fall in love than hear the music in the morning.


End file.
